


Devour.

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Food Kink, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romantic Friendship, casual shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky ate like a wolf. It was the first thing Steve noticed when he convinced the man to move in with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devour.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on one of my tumblr accounts.

Bucky ate like a wolf.

It was the first thing Steve noticed when he convinced the man to move in with him. _Just for now, to test it out,_ he’d assured. _Be good for you, honest._ And it was. Bucky acclimated quickly, and proved to be as good a housemate as Steve remembered. He kept his room tidy, the bathroom and shared living spaces spotless.

His hands, though— they stayed sticky.

The first week they lived together, Steve caught him intermittently hovering near a bowl of ripe tomatoes on the kitchen counter. The man stared at the bright red fruit, fingers running tremble light over their sun-wrinkled skin as if he hadn’t seen real food in decades. When it became clear he wouldn’t act alone, Steve made an off-handed comment about how tomatoes weren’t eaten with the eyes.

Bucky needed no further instruction. He took a moment to select the gem of the batch then brought it to his lips, sinking his teeth in as if it were an apple. Ignoring the seedy juice running rivers down his wrist, he ripped a hunk of the flesh free and suckled it for sweetness. After swallowing, he drank the fruit’s guts; his cheeks hollowed when he sucked out the pulp, and Steve couldn’t help but blush. When the husk of the tomato was finished, Bucky licked his hand and wrist clean.

He didn’t wash the spit off his skin. He simply nodded in thanks to Steve before brushing passed where he stood frozen in the doorway.

The tomatoes were gone in two days.

—————

Bucky had never been much for table manners, but Steve knew for a fact that he’d never refused utensils when they lived together before. But now, after nearly seven months of reestablished cohabitation, Steve had learned that setting the man’s tablespace with anything more than a heaping plate and a full glass was a waste of silverware.

In the first few weeks, Steve tried to squash the man’s habit of eating with his hands by serving as few finger-friendly foods as possible. It hadn’t worked. Bucky had taken noodles between his thumb and forefinger, held them high and arched his neck to let them slide between his lips. He’d scooped mashed potatoes up with his fingertips and sucked them clean. He’d gathered beans and peas one by one, softening them with a squeeze before popping them into his mouth. 

By the third month, Steve abandoned the effort and began diversifying their diet. However Bucky had relearned to approach food during his absence, it was clearly going to stick. It wasn’t harmful, wasn’t even really off-putting in Rogers’ opinion. Just different. 

Besides, he was tired of cooking pasta.

————-

Steve memorized Bucky’s eating habits the way some men memorized their lover’s wardrobe. He began selecting things to cook based off how he’d seen Bucky eat similar dishes, monitoring what elements carried over and which varied. He even began to prefer watching the man eat some foods over others.

Steak was his personal favorite.

Thick cuts were best, cooked just enough to sear the outer flesh and leave the center bright pink. Bucky would take the slab in hand, squeeze to test for consistency, then sink in his teeth. He’d tear at it with his canines, letting blood and cooking oil run down into the stubble on his chin. When he’d finished, he would lick grease from his fingers with enough suction to make little pops. The mess on his chin and shining lips, however, he’d leave until it was time to clear the table.

Steve’s tongue itched to clean it. He never did. He settled for licking his own lips instead, then returned to stuffing small cuts of meat into his own mouth with the aid of a fork. 

And Bucky would watch— guzzling wine, grinning like a wild dog.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive this shameless self-indulgence. The plot bunny wouldn't let me concentrate on anything else.


End file.
